


A Matter of Monsters

by Brys (brys)



Category: Tokyo Ghoul, Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Angst, Eventual Smut, F/F, F/M, Ghouls, Hance - Freeform, I have no idea how long this will be, Lancelot - Freeform, M/M, Pining, Shatt, Slow Burn, Smut, So much angst, There are a lot of side ships, Tokyo Ghoul AU, but also fluff and happiness, but it will be LONG, ghoul!allura, ghoul!keith, ghoul!shiro, hidge, klance, one eyed ghoul, past!shallura, so i only tagged klance, things get messed up really fast, tokyo ghoul - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-06
Updated: 2018-02-06
Packaged: 2019-03-01 02:59:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13285533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brys/pseuds/Brys
Summary: Lance has a dead end job, scrambles with his studies and lives the typical college-student-struggle-life, amongst other things. Who knew one glance could fuck up his world and make him redefine the meaning of the word "human".





	1. ˗ˏˋ beforehand ˎˊ˗

**Author's Note:**

> I suggest you read this on wattpad for a better experience? Hard to explain. I’m @bryblooms.
> 
> A special thank you to Blake, my beta reader. ♡

❝ _I want to be with you,_  
_it is as simple,_  
_and as complicated as that_.❞

**Charles Bukowski**

****

I do not own Voltron: Legendary Defender, Lance McClain, Keith Kogane, Toyko Ghoul, the images and fonts used in the cover or any other copy rightable properties I do not own Voltron: Legendary Defender, Lance McClain, Keith Kogane, Toyko Ghoul, the images and fonts used in the cover or any other copy rightable properties. Nothing but my words belong to me, okay. Nothing but my words belong to me, okay.

_Blue Lips_ by Regina Spektor  
 _Unravel_ by XLuna Sama

© Glitchikinns for Lance image used in cover.


	2. ˗ˏˋ One Hell Of A Story ˎˊ˗

When was Lance going to learn?

Honestly, he should've known by now that there were promises he could keep and others that should have never even crossed his mind to committing to. Promising Hunk any extra sweets from the discard bin in the back of the kitchen? Not a big deal. Promising Pidge that he'd be their guinea pig if they helped him with his impossible advanced calculus homework (Lance swore up and down that Mr. Millers was out to get him and his GPA)? No sweat- he would be an experiment for Pidge in his sleep. 

Promising to cover two 7 hour shifts, back to back, with no breaks? As in zero, nada, zelch time to recover, eat and maybe get a grasp on his sanity? Now, that was something that Lance was currently finding difficulty in. Sure, he was broke and on the verge of losing his apartment and the extra bank would be nice- but slowly and surely, he was starting to convince himself that maybe sacrificing his mental and physical health for a measly two extra dollars wasn't worth the entire 'you're-about-to-die' feeling and look he was currently rocking. 

The only things keeping Lance awake was the constant clicking on keyboards of a few college students huddled together in the corner on laptops, who probably had a deadline in the next hour or so (at least that's what Lance was guessing, when one of the girls started to burst out in tears), the brewing coffee that definitely needed to be replaced (so it wasn't really brewing coffee- more like coffee that was sitting in a lukewarm pot and growing stale), and the scattered footsteps of New Yorkers outside the cafe's door- the pedestrians were either getting to their own late night jobs or heading home to cozy, warm apartments or houses.

Boy, Lance really wished he had one of those right about now.

Keenly, Lance slowly moved his blue eyes to graze over the clock that stood directly across from him before he slumped back down onto the brown, chipping counter that needed to be updated at least 5 years ago. His body was aching from overwork but, of course, there was still work that needed to be done. The old shop closed in a a few minutes or so and dishes still needed to be washed, the trash had to be tossed into the black abyss that was the outside world and the current customers needed to be kicked out.

Even if said customers were on the verge of crying themselves to sleep.

Before Lance could even move his stick of a body, a large hand smacked his limber spine, steadily keeping him in place. "Lance!" A voice a little too loud and definitely too close said in a tone that was impossibly happy. It was Lance's co-worker Mark- or maybe his name was Michael- (who knows) coming to bother him. Regardless of his name, Lance referred to him as trash or a nuisance because that's exactly what he was.

A trashy, nuisance of a co-worker that only knew Lance's name when a favor needed to be asked.

"What?" Lance partially seethed through his teeth, though his strength was gone so no spite was in his tone. He hadn't bothered to look his co-worker in the eye as he waited for the trash of a human to ask him the dumb favor.

"Would you mind closing up alone? Me and a few friends had plans and sweeping and mopping the floors kinda keeps that from happening," 

Lance wished he was more surprised and had the guts to say no to Mitt's face (no, his name was definitely Morris) but instead, he stood up straight and shrugged the boy's hand from his back. Maybe his words wouldn't scare his co-worker but the dark circles under his eyes would probably do the trick.

"Just leave," he huffed too tired to do anything else besides wave him off, "but make sure you tell any remaining customers that we're closing."

The brunette had walked away too quickly to hear any fake words of thanks or feel more goddamn pats on the back from hell. Jesus, he couldn't even imagine shaking this guys hand without half of his poor bones being crushed and ground to dust. The dim lights from the shop switched to bright and fluorescent ones as Lance stepped into the back room that was probably just slightly below health code standards.

Just a smidge.

Lance peered down at the floor and couldn't tell if the red stain on the carpet was blood from Jerry's cut last week or ketchup from a bottle that was probably two years old. Besides that, everything else was squeaky clean. 

He did the best he could manage since it was him, himself and... just him.

The dishes were a breeze since the co-worker had manage to do something right (though Lance had to rewash a vast majority of them since they still had food stains of god-knows-what stuck to plates and cups) the sweeping and mopping was a bit time consuming but not utterly horrible since today wasn't that busy- most Sundays people had places to be and things to do, so being stuck inside an unknown and somewhat sketchy cafe wasn't exactly at the top of their list. 

Heck, even disposing of the trash went smoothly. To be truthful, Lance was terrified of the back door that led to the alley and trashcans. There wasn't a logical reason- the exit was well lit, nothing bad had ever happened (besides the time he slipped on black ice and screamed so horribly that his throat was sore for the rest of that day) and sometimes, if Lance's luck was up, he get to see a lone cat or two and got to give them a treat if they were particularly friendly.

Yeah, Hunk wasn't the only one that got the baked goodies from Lance.

But even that job had gone exceedingly swell. 

So of course, if closing the shop had been easy peasy lemon squeezy, the blue-eyed boy should've realized that his trip home was going to be literal hell on wheels. 

God, Lance was thinking to himself too much. This usually happened when he was overly tired. Lance either had no thoughts at all or he was bursting with a robust imagination fit to at least energize five seven-year-olds. He made his way to a small side room, besides the kitchen, meant only for employees and began retrieving items (mostly extra winter clothing to fight the cold that snow brought) from his slightly broken locker. 

It was only slightly broken since it still locked and such, but sometimes Lance would have to jiggle the key a few times or slam his entire body against the rusted piece of crap to get it to open, but hey, that locker was probably older than Lance times two and had seen things that would scar him.

He wasn't gonna push his luck.

After locking up and triple checking that the spare keys to the cafe Bruce's Brews was securely stuffed into the depths of his pockets, and had no chance to escape, Lance's legs idly began moving with just his thoughts and will to live, keeping him company. 

*

Even through his two layers of socks, thick black winter coat, crocheted mittens, scarf, tattered hat and boots Lance was still shitting himself since it was so fucking cold in this damn state. There was no reason that Lance should be contemplating death or thinking which toe he was going to have to sacrifice first if he got frostbite while walking down the street, towards the icy steps that led to the underground system known as the subway. 

One thing he loved about the big city was that even at 11 pm at night, holiday lights were still up and swinging highly, people of all backgrounds were moving about, living their lives and going about their business and no one would question what you were doing- especially if it seemed like you were in a rush.

One thing he hated about the big city was that no one ever fucking slept, no matter how much he begged them. No one ever moved out the way even if you were about to miss your subway, no- instead they stood there like a jackass and then acted like it was your fault that you couldn't get past the crowd-

"Huh? Lance?" The soothing voice on the other end of his phone questioned, before going a tone deeper and gruffer.

"H-Hunk, my main m-man," Lance's teeth were chattering as he sat on the pitch black bench trying his hardest to maintain any warmth. His brown ears were turning a cherry red and his hands would not stop moving all over the place ugh. "Have a-any room for me to c-crash at your place?"

"Wait- you're still out right now?"

There was a pause as Lance went through his options- his current timer was his physical capability to stay warm and with each second that timer grew shorter. He already knew that if he told the truth (which Hunk already knew) he'd be scolded, and then yelled at some more the following day. But, if Lance lied, there would be a good chance Hunk would make him some nice warm Christmas cookies and cocoa and maybe provide some warm hugs-

"Lance." There was a sharp edge to Hunk's voice and it wasn't one Lance heard often. 

He shuddered again, not just from the cold.

"I just missed my subway on accident and- I don't know when the n-next one is coming. I swear I hadn't done it purposefully and-"

There was no sounds, no nothing as the connection got shittier on the phone. Oddly, the less people there were in the subway station (and the number was becoming frighteningly scarce) the worse Lance's cell phone connection became. And this, was the precise moment his luck went from bad to worse.

"Lance...- you went- stay-" 

The signal on his phone died, though Lance wasn't even moving.

Hunk had a right to be worried sick, and if Lance's brain wasn't so numb he'd probably be in a better state of mind to realize how shit of a situation he was currently in. As of lately, there had been no recent ghoul attacks in his area but that still didn't leave a positive thought settling into his mind. Most victims were out by themselves, late at night in non-crowded areas.

And as Lance stood up (his long legs equivalent to icicles at this point) and walked out of the quiet subway station and towards the New York sidewalks, he understood he fit that statistic about 100% right now. He decided to tuck any lingering thoughts into the back of his brain, right next to the idea of actually doing any homework he still had left to complete.

"Shit," white, smoky air flew from his mouth as he cursed at his phone and nearly bit his tongue. The battery was now too low to call Hunk back without it dying in mere seconds (the phone was nearly three years old, and if it shut off anytime now, there was a high chance it wouldn't turn back on at all after all the times Lance had dropped the thing) and the options available to Lance were trickling away like the white snowflakes floating down to the earth's surface.

He could wait for the next subway train for what would probably be another hour or so, depending on how the fates were willing to test him. He could also call a cab and hitch a ride back to his dainty apartment and pray that he would have enough change to scrape from the bottom of his pockets so he could properly pay the cab fare... or he could just start his shameful trek to his second home, that was also known as Hunk's apartment and was only four goddamn blocks away. 

But in this frigid temperature and darkening night, Lance had a feeling that the walk would feel somewhat endless.

Instead of complaining, he tugged the blue scarf upwards to cover his chapped lips before shoving his shivering hands even further into his pockets (making sure to squeeze the set of keys a tenth time, reassured that they were still there) as he tried to generate any warmth that he could as his trek of shame began. Today was not Lance's day after all; nor had it been his week, month or year. 

Coming to America meant that dreams should come true, especially if you managed to make it to one of the big cities. 

Lance now knew that entire idea was bullshit; and that his dreams were worth less than the rats sleeping in the sewers.

"Fuck ,fuck, fuck," Lance repeated the words as if they were a hit song, managing to align each word with each agonizing step he took, the cold and snow and frigid air not showing him a bit of mercy. The buildings got smaller, the lights grew dimmer and the houses and apartments began to become a little shabbier each block Lance passed. By now, he was regretting leaving his warm home and Cuba and willingly departing from his mother's arms and annoying siblings, undoubtedly in a group huddle underneath a warm makeshift fort with the softest blankets in their grasps.

Lance's mind was enveloped in fuzzy memories that brought warmth to his heart (and he really wished he could transfer that warmth to his fingertips) that he almost failed to notice the tipping of a trashcan in the alley that he was currently passing- the memories fleeted as did the cozy feeling in his chest as his mind immediately froze. Lance's body didn't move as he faced the pitch black alley, wanting an explanation before he went into flight or fight mode. Honestly if it was a burglar, the thief would probably take pity on him and give him any change he had stolen from the people beforehand.

Yeah, Lance was that broke. 

Lance was trying to think of anything else besides the one dark thought prying itself forward, one Lance knew was unlikely and impossible and utterly ridiculous, but he could feel his heartbeat beating against his ribcage, threatening to nearly fall out of his chest.

A black, silky beauty mewed as she bolted out from the alley and entangled herself against Lance's legs. 

Saying that his heart nearly dropped from his chest and onto the snowy floor was an understatement; Lance visibly sighed as he carefully crept downwards. A gust of air nearly knocked him unbalanced, as he gave the cat a warm scratch behind her ear, and she continued to encircle his legs. 

"Geesh kitty, you nearly gave me a heart attack-" the cheerful expression on Lance's face dropped as he looked back into the alley. He really should've kept his head down.

The cat was no longer purring -and now, as Lance reflects back on this he actually had no recollection of time in the moment, he hadn't even known when the cat ran away- but what he did know was that scarlet embers were staring back at him. Well one was a bloody red- the other, not so much.

Their illuminance could be compared to the brightness within the moon, as they seemed to pulsate in alignment with his heart.

And Lance's legs could've been compared to an Olympic track stars, as he prayed that the longs limbs kept going down the icy New York sidewalks safely. and got him away as fast as possible.

The only phrase that registered in his head was holy shit, h-holy shit and the dangerous thundering in his heart was ringing through his chest, rattling his ribcage. Yeah, Lance was going to start promising people less and worrying about himself more if late night rendezvous were going to end like this.

At least he was going to have one hell of a story to tell Hunk.


	3. ˗ˏˋ “It’s Like A Boyfriend Drawer” ˎˊ˗

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lance comes to terms with what happened. Sort of. Not really.

_**Thank you again to BlakeGregory , my beta reader and hunkgarettofficial for correcting a few final touches. ♡** _

_**-** _

There was so much thudding. His feet colliding with the ground over and over, the heat piercing into his ribcage never failing to miss a beat and the constant pulsing in his head telling him to _run, run before the bad thing chasing you starts running faster,_ and so Lance did and he probably put Usain Bolt to shame.

Finally Hunk's ragged brick apartment building came into sight and Lance could already feel himself falling into ease, the burning in his lungs ceasing only slightly. This was familiar territory, and undoubtedly people would be awake despite the time.

... _surely_ if he screamed, some poor soul would take pity on him help.

Lance did the one thing you were never supposed to do in any classic horror movie- he peeked behind himself. Steady pants left his mouth as his eyes attempted to sift through the snow gently flowing to the ground as he peered. Besides the cars parked alongside the road, the few street lamps (that were hardly working) and his own foot prints imprinted on the snowy sidewalks there was nothing.

Thank God, there was nothing.

*

Before he could even bother to lift his frozen hand and knock on the door, the heavy wooden frame seemed to shift entirely as Hunk swung it open. His chocolate brown eyes were piercing Lance judgingly, and he hadn't even needed to say a word before the boy was feeling heavily scolded and wanted to sulk.

Lance pushed down the scarf that was covering his lips feeling a little relieved that the scratchy texture wasn't brushing against his skin anymore. "I wouldn't be here if I didn't have a choice, you know that Hunky." He began to explain, itching to get inside.

For a moment Hunk's gaze softened and Lance could see the bristling air pushing at his dark locks and making his nose scrunch up from the coldness. "That's not why I'm upset, Lance," he sighed before gripping Lance into a back-breaking hug. The shorter male practically fell into the embrace, his lanky limbs melting into Hunk's before he was being dragged inside and led into the main sitting area.

"You shouldn't just be out at these hours." He continued to stress as he released him, who was still in a daze. Hunk smelled like sweetness and sunflowers all at once. Lance liked it. "There's scary stuff out there. Like, ya know, things you can't flirt to death."

"I take personal offense to that statement."

"Yeah, Lance can flirt anything to death Hunk give him some credit." A familiar voice chimed in, wittingly. Lance hadn't noticed the mop of tinted light brown hair and mass of blankets sitting on the couch until now, and he smiled at the sight. He was too busy shrugging off his coat (he completely missed the coat rack, it ended up on the floor) and searching for the nearest-semi-comfortable-corner to curl up in and just rest.

"If I weren't functioning on just 0.2% energy right now, you'd be running for your life," as threatening as he tried to sound, Lance could tell his threat came off a joke. He felt like one too.

Pidge just snorted, a light choked sounded, before continuing to swipe away across the bright screen laid out in front of her as she buried herself in the blankets. Must've been nice being a full-ride scholarship student.

"Anyways," Hunk could only shake his head, continuing towards the kitchen that oddly had no scents of food wafting from it. "How'd you end up here? The connection to the call dropped." The clattering of pots and pans could be heard and the familiar sound of the fridge opening.

He made his way through the slightly darkened room and didn't hesitate to plop down on the opposite side of the couch from Pidge. He kicked his feet out, trying to squirm underneath the warm mound of sheets but instead hit something hard and earned a swat from Pidge.

Then it hit him. Not Pidge, this time.

"Holy shit." Lance's entire body jolted up as the last few moments replayed in his head.

The black cat. The cold and snow. That damn glowing eye that seemed to settle into the pit of his stomach and left only a sick feeling as it remnants. " _Holy shit_." Lance repeated. "Guys I think I almost died." He breathed out, the words or thought of what previously happened not even seeming close to real. Blue eyes stared at the ceiling as their owner tried to convince himself that _no, this was not a dream_ , yet he couldn't even believe his own words.

"I wouldn't have let you freeze to death ya know." Hunk was reassuring in his own sense, a worried tint to his tone. There was now a familiar smell coming from the kitchen but even Hunk's soothing cooking couldn't derail Lance's current train of thought.

"Hunk's too much of a softie," Pidge piped up, the tablet's light dimly reflecting from her glasses. "If it were me, there would've been no mercy. Lance, you'd be half-frozen by now."

Well, he already practically had been.

Lance could feel himself wanting to plunge into the covers and never emerge from underneath them, but the daunting feeling wouldn't leave him be. "No guys I'm being serious for once."

Maybe it was the sound of his voice, or the tremble that slipped out or even the fact that he hadn't rebuttaled either Hunk's or Pidge's words in his usual joking manner, but both of his friends were silent and listening, encouraging him to continue.

It made him feel like the situation was even more stupid. But his racing heart was battling with his brain.

"I think there was a ghoul? Maybe? I mean I was just walking home-" home, being Hunk's place "- and it was just in the alley, _staring_ at me." Of course there was more to the situation, more to what happened, and infinitely more words Lance could've use to describe what happened but everything was jumbled in his head.

He hadn't even noticed that Hunk had walked back into the room, until his unruly brown hair was being soothingly stroked and a mug of something warm was being pushed in his hands. Lance opened his eyes, and was greeted by the sight of his best and longest friend, and his nerves seemed to ease.

"There hasn't been a ghoul sighting here in weeks Lance," Hunk tried to reassure, but even he didn't sound too positive.

"Well there hasn't been any _documented_ cases. Most of the time the police either keep the reports confidential unless someone's been murdered. If it's just a sighting, nothing is released to the press or public usually." Pidge commented, her fingers tapping against the tablet once more in an even more rapid fashion.

How the hell did she even know that?

"That's dumb," Lance muttered, accepting the mug and shifting on the couch. He looked down at the contents and was grateful for the sugary scents wafting upwards. It was a cup of golden milk; a magical concoction of warm milk, honey, vanilla and tumeric that Lance's mother had passed down onto him. But Hunk always made it better.

"It's so the public doesn't go into a frenzy. Well that, and other things. If you're serious about what you saw, you probably should tell the authorities- not that it'll do much besides waste your own time."

For an odd reason, Lance was taking Pidge's words to heart and they pierced him like tiny, cold toothpicks pressing against his warm skin. Hunk was oddly silent and had taken to sitting in the nearby armchair that was in no better condition than the couch.

The room was silent again besides the gentle sipping occurring from Lance as he downed the cup's contents smoothly and slowly, savoring both the taste and bursts of heat.

He was too tired to continue talking about his disturbing encounter. Or maybe he was too scared.

Either way, he was feeling too much of _something_ and just wanted to rest.

He wanted to believe what happened was nothing, not true and wouldn't affect his existence. Crazy things tended to happen to sleep deprived people, and Lance wasn't too far off from knocking his experience into that category.

"When's your next work shift?" Hunk was speaking again, voice careful and laced with concern.

"6 am."

"Jesus, Lance, you really are going to work yourself to death you know that? Where's your phone?" He pressed with more questions, already knowing that Lance wouldn't fully heed his warnings.

"Coat pocket. The alarm's already set for 5 but my phone died." The mug was now sitting on the coffee table, empty and growing colder. Lance's vision was wavering alongside his consciousness as he pressed himself firmly into the blankets.

There was shuffling in the room but Lance didn't care to check who was moving, or why. His eyelids remained firmly shut, as his mind worked to ease him to sleep as well as push back memories of the night.

"We can take a taxi to your job tomorrow together okay? Lance?"

"Hunk we have classes tomorrow-"

"Okay," was all Lance managed to accurately say as he finally succumbed to his restless senses. Hunk and Pidge's small bickering faded into background noise as Lance was lulled to sleep by the thoughts of home and the honey resting against his tongue.

*

The next morning seemed to pass by rather quickly.

  
Hunk had woken Lance up with a warm biscuit and coffee (that was far better than the ones served at his place of employment) a few minutes before Lance's phone alarm had gone off. Apparently Hunk charged it for him, like the actual God send he was, and the guy actually packed Lance a proper lunch, which was something the brunette hadn't enjoyed properly for what felt like months.

More often than he would've liked to admit, Lance would snack in between working so he could still clock in hours.

Pidge was still knocked out cold, the tablet pressed against her chest weakly, glasses sitting on the coffee table across from her. She was a fairly quiet sleeper and if someone couldn't see the slow rise and fall of her chest, they would've thought that she was dead or in a coma.

They were both careful to keep their voices to a minimum so they didn't disturb her.

Lance had thought he didn't need to change since he only brought one pair of clothes- and had also effectively slept in them. But, of course, from his many previous past endeavors it turns out Lance had fresh clothes at Hunk's, that his best buddy had washed in case an incident like this occurred again.

"It's like a boyfriend drawer," Lance laughed curtly, a yawn followed soon after as he pulled a fresh shirt and jeans from Hunk's top dresser drawer.

"A what?"

"You know, when couples start to stay the night at each other's house, they get a drawer full of their stuff. This is like a top tier boyfriend drawer."

Hunk's chest and ears felt a small tinge, and he began to open his mouth to speak but Lance continued.

"Though this is more like a best friend drawer."

*

The taxi ride was almost silent. The car slid through the slush in the streets, and Lance's eyes were trained outside the window. He was waiting to go down the same street the alley had been but apparently the taxi driver had taken a different route.

Maybe that was a good thing.

Hunk claimed that he would pay the cab fair since he had to continue to use it anyway, Lance was dropped off at Bruce's Brews with the brown paper bag lunch and already the feeling of a long day at work was settling onto his shoulders. He walked up the icy pathway (nearly sliding and losing his life) and slipped his chilled, clothed hands into his pocket.

There was no jingle nor a familiar feel of metal against his woolen mittens. The keys were gone, Lance's heart sunk and if his eyes were able to open any wider he was quite sure he would've been seeing stars.


End file.
